Sometimes the Hunt Comes to You
by ADSigMel
Summary: My first ever fanfic.  Sam and Dean come to the rescue of a woman who is a lot more than what she seems.  But is Melody an ally, a threat, or just plain nuts? Set a few months postAHBL.  First in the series The Guardian.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. Rub it in my face, why dontcha? BTW, I'm not doing this every chapter, so consider this a blanket disclaimer for this fic. If I somehow gain possession of anything Supernatural-related, trust me, I'll brag here first.**

**Spoilers: Everything up through AHBL2 is fair game.**

**Reviews: I like 'em. They make me happpy. LEAVE 'EM! Please. :)**

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She tried to ignore the incessant hammering on the front door. Rolled over and pulled the pillow tightly around her ears. But she could still hear the knocking. She groaned as waves of nausea rolled through her in time with the pounding in her throbbing head. Maybe she shouldn't have drunk the _entire_ bottle of Jack Daniels the night before. Or that six-pack of Heineken. Or the full bottle of Jagermeister. The pounding continued, and she was beginning to have trouble determining whether it was the idiot at the door or the miniature drummer pounding away in her brain. Finally, giving up on sleep – or drunken oblivion, it made no difference to her – she dragged herself from the bed and stood, taking a moment to allow the dizziness to subside.

She trudged from the bedroom through the living room to the front door and yanked it open without even looking out the window first, eyes half closed against the mid-morning light. She hadn't bothered to find a robe to cover her white lace camisole and thin gray boy shorts, anxious as she was to give this annoying asshole at the door a piece of her mind about disturbing hung over grieving widows at ass o'clock on a Saturday morning. But the moment the door opened, the words froze in her throat. It wasn't just one asshole. It was two of them. Two men dressed in suits and ties, one very tall, at least six-foot-four, with shaggy brown hair and boyish good looks. The other was shorter, but still tall, a bit over six feet. His golden brown hair stood in somewhat unruly tufts on his head, but her attention was caught by his hazel green eyes. When he took in her sleepy and barely-clothed appearance, his face was split by a sultry smile that she would have recognized anywhere, even if she hadn't identified him by his face the second she opened the door.

"Dude. Seriously? Am I being punked? 'Cause I've gotta tell ya, I'm not famous. And I know you're not here to tell me I won the Route 666 challenge, 'cause I'm not even a Verizon subscriber."

The taller man looked confused. "I'm sorry, are you Mrs. Justema?" He pronounced it Jus-_tee_-ma. "It's '_Jus_-tih-ma,'" she corrected automatically. "Accent on the 'jus.' And yes, I am. Call me Melody, though. Or Mel. Whatever."

She walked away from the door and dragged her body toward the kitchen. "You boys want some coffee?" she called over her shoulder. "'Cause I think I'm gonna need some." She missed the puzzled look the two men exchanged as they stepped warily into the living room.

"Uh, ma'am?" the angel with the sultry smile called after her. "I'm Agent Ford, and my partner here is Agent Hamill. We're with the FBI, and we're here to ask some questions about your husband's…accident."

She looked over from her place at the coffee pot, and snorted. "Uh-huh. French Roast okay?"

She didn't wait for an answer before pulling out the canister and pouring the coffee grounds into a waiting filter. She turned on the pot before returning to the living room. The men were still standing there looking bemused.

"Well, are y'all gonna sit down?" They didn't move.

"Do you usually invite strange men into your home without asking for ID?" the taller man asked.

"Well, _Samuel Winchester_," she drawled, "I could ask to see your Agent Hamill ID, but I reckon we both know it would be a fake. I mean, seriously, who would actually fall for that crap?"

Before she could blink, both men were pointing guns at her chest. She raised an elegant eyebrow and said, "Alright kids, it's a little too early in the morning, and I'm a little too hung over for you boys to come barging into my house waving pistols at me. Seriously, what the fuck is going on here? Why are Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki standing in my living room being Winchesters hard at work?"

The sultry-smiled sex god ground out, "Look lady, I don't know who Jason and Jared are, but I think you should explain how the fuck you know us."

"Oh, for God's sake. Okay, _Dean_, I'll play along. Why are you and _Sam_ here, and what do you want to know about Isaac for? For one thing, the FBI doesn't usually get too involved in random attacks by wolves, so that was the wrong cover to use for this case. And for another, _yes, it was a random attack by a wolf_, according to the coroner, not a werewolf or a hellhound or a wendigo, or whatever it is you're insinuating with your presence. And finally, where the _hell_ do you two get off coming to bother a grieving widow with this stupid game you're playing?! I want to know who put you up to this, and I want to know right fucking now!"

The men exchanged troubled glances. Melody stood before them, chest heaving in anger, fists clenched at her sides, shooting daggers at the two of them with her eyes.

Sam lowered his weapon. "There have been four other identical attacks in this area in the past two months. We suspect that it _was_ a werewolf, or maybe even a pack of them."

"Dude!" Dean exclaimed. "Why are you telling her this?"

"Because she's obviously got some idea what's going on here, and I think she deserves answers to her questions."

"Yeah, that's all well and good, Sammy," she cut in, "but my real question is who put you two up to this. Because, as much as I admire the work you boys do on televisions across the country every Thursday night, I'd be mighty interested in knowing how two of the hottest actors in the galaxy came to be on my doorstep stirring shit about my late husband."

At that, Dean lowered his gun. "Yeah, I know I'm hot and all, but an _actor_?"

"This is getting old," she groaned. "It's real nice to meet y'all and everything, and I'll admit that I'm intrigued by whatever the hell is going on here, but honestly? I'm still a little drunk from last night, and I'd really like to end this particular prank so I can go finish sleeping off the damage Jack Daniels did to me."

Dean cast an eye over the coffee table. He raised an eyebrow at the empty liquor and beer bottles littering it and asked, "You drank all that by yourself?"

"Yeah," she snapped. "You got a problem with that? My husband died less than three weeks ago, and I didn't have shit else to do with my Friday night, so I got fucking plastered. Is that okay with you?"

He raised his hands and took a step back. "Hey, lady, it's your life."

"_Yeah_, it is. And it's my house, too, so unless y'all are planning on telling me what this is all about, you can go now. Come back tomorrow when I'm slightly less hung over."

"Actually," Sam cut in, "we'd like to get to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible. If you know a little something about werewolves, you might know that they're only active around the time of the full moon, and that time is fast approaching. We'd like to get this pack taken care of before someone else gets hurt."

She closed her eyes and slowly counted to ten. When she opened them, Sam and Dean Winchester were still standing there looking at her.

"If I can show you cold hard proof that I know exactly who you two are, will you tell me who put you up to this, and maybe leave me alone?"

Dean shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

She stalked over to the cabinet where her DVD collection was stored and searched for the case for the first season of Supernatural. And didn't find it. Well, that was odd, but whatever. She still had House of Wax and season four of Smallville to fall back on. Pulling the volumes from the shelves, she glanced at the covers of the two DVD cases and felt the blood drain from her face. On the cover of House of Wax, where Jared Padalecki's face should have been, she saw instead James Franco. And where Jensen Ackles should have been on the Smallville cover, Wentworth Miller stood in his place.

She glared over he shoulder at the two men. "Okay, this is making me decidedly more uneasy than I really want to be right now. Somebody better start talking, and I mean This. Fucking. Second."

"Look, Melody," Sam said, "I think you must have us confused with someone else. But either way, that doesn't explain why you know who we are and what we do."

She slowly crossed the room, the two DVD cases still gripped tightly in her hands, and sank onto the sofa. She took several deep breaths. "Sam and Dean Winchester are the children of John Winchester. Their mother, Mary, died in a fire in their Lawrence, Kansas home when Sam was six months old. It was the second of November, 1983. Mary was killed by a demon with yellow eyes who pinned her to the ceiling above his crib. Dean carried Sam from the burning building and has been protecting him ever since. Dean was only four at the time. Their father began a search for what killed Mary, and that search showed him the true nature of things in their world. He found that demons, ghosts, poltergeists, angry spirits, vampires, and the like do exist, and he devoted his life, and the lives of his sons, to ridding the world of the evil beings that plagued it. Eventually, little Sammy grew up and went off to college, against the wishes of his family, especially John, who wanted him to keep hunting. The family business. But Sam wanted a normal life, and, being the genius that he is, he got a full ride to Stanford. There, he met a beautiful girl by the name of –"

"Okay, you just stop right there," Dean interrupted. He sounded pissed. Melody looked up from the spot on the carpet where she had been staring to find his gun pointed at her again. "How do you know that?" he demanded angrily. "How the _fuck_ can you know that?" His face was red with rage, the muscles in his neck straining, and his beautiful hazel green eyes promised nothing but death and destruction. This was no act. Her eyes filled with tears.

"Oh, God," she breathed, terrified, not so much of the gun in her face, but of the implications of the fact that this act was not an act at all. She began to shiver uncontrollably.

Sam stepped forward to pull Dean away and forced him to lower the gun again. "Look at her man, she's scared shitless. I don't know what's going on here, but she's definitely not a threat."

It was true. Melody, unable to stop shaking, had also begun to gasp for breath. She was stammering unintelligibly about how this was impossible and she must be going crazy.

Suddenly, Dean yelled, "Christo!" That snapped her out of her stupor. She glared at him. "I'm not possessed, asshole. In case you hadn't noticed, I keep a full holy water receptacle right next to my front door. How many demons do you know that do that?"

He glanced over his shoulder to confirm the fact. "Fine. Then how do you explain knowing all this about us?"

"For the love of God, Dean, I _can't_. If I could explain it, do you think I'd be this fucking freaked out? As far as I know, your real name is Jensen Ackles, and you're an actor on a television show called Supernatural. It's a fantastic show, and I watch it religiously, and it's a hundred percent _fictional_! There _are_ no evil things that go bump in the night, just crazy-assed humans and the occasional bear or wild dog!"

She thrust the House of Wax DVD at Sam. "See where James Franco is standing? That's supposed to be you." She threw the Smallville DVD at Dean, who caught it easily. "And you're supposed to be playing Jason Teague there, _not _Wentworth Miller." She stood up suddenly and began to pace, rubbing her bare arms as if to keep herself from coming apart at the seams. As suddenly as she had started pacing, she stopped. "Coffee," she stated matter-of-factly, in a voice calm and empty of all emotion. "We should have coffee now." And she went back to the kitchen to start pouring.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean and Sam exchanged one of their looks. One of the ones that only other people with siblings can comprehend. A look that spoke volumes without either of them saying a single word. Dean's look said very clearly, _Okay, this bitch is nuts_. Sam's said just as clearly, _Yeah, I can see that, but she knows things about us that _no one_ knows!_

Melody emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray with three steaming cups of coffee and small containers of sugar and creamer. She carefully stirred one spoonful of sugar into her coffee before sinking back in the sofa, grasping the cup between her hands as if it were the only thing keeping her firmly rooted in this reality.

Dean picked up a cup of coffee and took a sip. "Damn, that's good coffee," he commented. Sam glared at him. Dean just shrugged.

Sam sat next to Melody and carefully placed his hand on her arm. She didn't flinch, just looked at his hand, her face still devoid of any expression. "Melody?" he asked softly. She didn't respond. "Melody?" he said, a bit louder.

She looked up at him. "Dude, what's happened to me? I swear to God I'm not crazy. At least, I wasn't when I passed out last night. I don't think I was, anyway. I _know_ that none of this can possibly be happening. You two aren't real. I spend way too much time wishing you were, wishing that there really were evil things out there that I could hunt, because sometimes… God help me, but sometimes I want to _kill_ something, and I find myself wishing for a ghost or goblin or something that I can shoot without getting in trouble with the law or with my conscience. I wish for adventure, to spend my time trekking across the country, staying in cheap sleazy motels paid for with somebody else's credit cards." She paused and look up at Dean before continuing, "I want to pick up random strangers at bars and diners just because I can." He had the grace to try to seem slightly embarrassed, but mostly, he just looked like the cat that ate the canary.

She looked into the coffee cup in her hands as if trying to find answers to all of life's questions in its murky depths. "I don't know what's going on here. If you're here, and you're who you and I think you are, then something is very wrong. Either I've stumbled into your world or you've stumbled into mine." She let out a small half-laugh. "Honestly, though? I don't really care. I've been waiting my whole life for something like this to happen. I went to college, and then I went to law school, then I got married to a man who was more of a convenient life partner than a soul mate, and all the while I was waiting for something to take me away from the stupid mundane things that were slowly tearing away little pieces of me. Well, I guess here you are. And you couldn't have picked a better time. I've got nothing here to hold me back. I don't have a husband anymore, and I sure as hell don't intend to use my law degree. Might as well take up hunting, do some good in the world, right?"

"Excuse me?" the men asked in unison. She looked up at them, as if surprised that they were still there. She had been talking more to herself than to them there at the end. Dean spoke up, "Sorry, sweetheart, but I really don't think you understand hunting very well if you think it's something you can just take up as a career change."

She considered that he might very well be right. She had never admitted to herself that she wanted to hunt, not really, and she had no clue as to whether she could actually do it. But something in his tone rubbed her the wrong way. Melody Justema balked at being told what to do. So she took a sip of the scalding coffee in her hands, piqued an eyebrow at him, and asked casually, "Oh, did I make it sound as though I were asking you for permission? My mistake."

Sam let out a sound that was suspiciously like a laugh. She granted him a small smirk.

"Fine," Dean ground out, obviously pissed. "Good luck staying alive. You're gonna need it."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" she demanded, her eyes darkening as she glared at him.

"Well, no offense, but you just don't really seem like hunter material. Looks like you've been living a pretty cushy life here. Hunting is hard work, darlin', it's not for the faint of heart."

"Well,_ darlin'_, looks can be deceiving. I've done my fair share of hard work in this life, and I have no doubt that should I choose to take up hunting, then every evil son of a bitch this side of hell had better watch his back, because I, Jensen Ackles, or Dean Winchester, or whoever the fuck you are, _I_ don't do things by halves." She didn't even realize she had stood up until she found herself toe to booted toe with Dean, glaring him directly in the eye. She was several inches shorter than he, but the waves of irritation and determination emanating from her body made her seem taller than her five feet and nine inches.

From this distance, she could see every fleck of hazel in his eyes and the way that his firmly set lips begged to be kissed. She could see the light dusting of freckles across his cheekbones and resisted the urge to count them. And she could see from the slight tug of his lips that he knew exactly where her thoughts lay.

She took a deep breath and turned away from him, draining her still-scalding coffee and setting the mug on the tray. Sam was still seated on the sofa, his gaze darting back and forth between Melody and Dean. He looked as though he were confused as to whether the woman was about to kick his brother or kiss him. In truth, the answer was probably a bit of both.

Melody had agreed to speak with them about Isaac's death, but wanted to shower first. The coffee had helped marginally, but she still felt like liquor was oozing from her pores, which it probably was. She stood under the hot water for a long time thinking things over. She was no better able to figure things out in the shower than she had been in the living room, and wondered if she would step out of the bathroom to find herself alone again. Perhaps the entire morning had been a drunken hallucination.

Meanwhile, Sam and Dean sat in the living room, discussing what might be going on. They were no more able to come up with a plausible explanation for her intimate knowledge of them than Melody herself had been able to provide. The more pressing matter, at any rate, was the werewolf issue. The moon was almost full, and they had next to nothing to go on. All they knew was that the attacks had all occurred during the full moon, which was what led them to suspect a werewolf as the culprit. The victims had been mauled pretty much beyond recognition. The attacks had all happened on the outskirts of town in heavily wooded areas, but they had happened in five _separate_ areas. Either one werewolf was covering a lot of ground, or they had a pack on their hands. Either way, it could prove difficult to predict the next attack to keep anyone else from being hurt.

Forty-five minutes after she had disappeared into the bathroom, Melody emerged, dressed in low-rise jeans and a cropped white tank top that read "Dixie Girl" in red and blue letters and sported a rebel flag prominently across her breasts. Her shoulder-length black hair was pulled into a ponytail and she looked significantly less nauseous than she had when the Winchesters had awakened her.

Sam merely raised an eyebrow at her shirt, but Dean, never one to mince words, commented, "I don't think I've ever seen a black woman wear a rebel flag before." Sam elbowed him in the ribs before flashing an apologetic smile. "What was that for?" he groused. "I _haven't_!"

Melody shook her head. "It's okay, Sam. I'm not easily offended." She settled into an oversized armchair across from the sofa where the Winchesters had taken up residence and tucked her long legs underneath her. "The fact of the matter is that the rebel flag is a symbol of the South, and I'm nothing if not a Southern woman. I think this flag, just like any other symbol, represents what we choose to make it represent. And to me, it means a slower, kinder, gentler way of life. It's magnolia trees and sweet tea and cotton fields. It's home." She paused for a moment, a small smile on her face. "Alright then," she said, looking composedly at them. "What can I do to help y'all find the fucker that got my husband?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Okay. Looks to me like, if the pattern holds true, then the next attack should be in the woods near Cahaba Lily Park. The moon's not quite full yet, so we should have until tomorrow night at least. I recommend that we spend today and tonight preparing. We'll head out tomorrow night and patrol the trails until the bastard shows up, pump his ass full of lead – or silver, whatever – and call it a job well done."

Dean stared at her, disbelief written clearly across his face. Sam wore an identical expression. "Uhh," Sam started. Dean cut in, "You're not coming with us."

"Oh?" she inquired innocently. "And how exactly were you planning on stopping me?"

"I'll tie you down if I have to, but you're not going out there to get yourself, or one of us, killed."

"You come anywhere near me with a rope, and I'll put my foot so far up your ass the werewolf will think we constitute a single meal. And if I were you, Dean, I wouldn't threaten me in my own house again. I'm just about tired of your domineering know-it-all attitude. I may not be a seasoned hunter like your esteemed selves, but I can hold my own. Please don't make me show you."

Dean was on his feet. He wasn't sure if his anger was at her words or at the calm way she had spoken them. Since the original shock of realization that the Winchesters really were in her house, the woman had been utterly unflappable. Her measured drawl had belied not an ounce of fear at the beast – or beasts – that she now knew had been terrorizing her small close-knit Alabama town, and her tone was that of a woman used to being right and used to getting what she wanted. If she weren't hot, he might have punched her. But instead, her angelic features, full breasts, and long legs made him long to kiss her into submission instead. It figured the widow would be unbelievable sexy in addition to being a complete pain in the ass.

"Melody, you cannot come on this hunt with us, and that's final."

"Dean, I've told you before and I'll tell you again, you don't get to tell me what to do." Now, she was on her feet as well, eyes flashing and belying her deceptively calm voice.

"Guys," Sam called in an attempt to avert what looking to be escalating toward physical violence. They ignored him.

"You're not a hunter! If we let you go out there with us, you'll just be in the way!"

"Buddy, you can take your unwarranted paternalism and stick it where the sun don't shine, 'cause there's no way in hell I'm gonna sit around and let you two breeze into _my _town and take on the evil that stole Isaac from me without help!"

"We don't need help, especially from a goddamn girl!"

Almost before Sam could blink, Dean was on the floor. Sam bolted to his feet. He had never known Dean to hit a human woman before, but there was a first time for everything. After all, he had never seen a human woman lay out his big brother, either. Dean slowly sat up, rubbing his chin, where a bruise was already starting to form.

"Make that a goddamn girl with a mean right hook, jackass," she spat before storming into her bedroom and slamming the door behind her. Dean went to go after her, but Sam pulled him back.

"Let her cool down, man."

"That fucking girl punched me!"

"Yeah, well, you were being kind of an ass, you know."

"Excuse me?" he asked incredulously. "You can't possibly think it's a good idea to take this random woman out into the woods with us to hunt a fucking werewolf."

"Of course I don't think it's a good idea, Dean. But you've got to understand that she wants to help, she wants to be able to do something about this evil that's taken so much from her. God, Dean, she wants _vengeance_. And to be honest with you, it seems to me like this girl can handle herself pretty damn well. She knocked you on your ass, didn't she?"

"Fuck you, Sam."

"Bite me, Dean."

Sam walked over to the master bedroom door and knocked softly. Hearing no answer, he entered the room and closed the door behind him, leaving Dean alone in the living room. Melody was sitting on the far side of the king-sized bed, gazing out the large window overlooking her front lawn. She held a wedding picture in her hands.

Sam sat down beside her. "I'm sorry my brother's such an asshole."

"Your brother's right. The two of you have a job to do. You're good at it, and having me out there would just be a distraction." She looked down at the photograph in her lap and sighed. "I guess I just…want to be able to take out my frustration. I hadn't been in love with him for a long time, but we were best friends, and I'm so…angry. Angry at this monster for taking him away, for _hurting_ him like that. Angry at myself for not being there to help him. Angry at God for letting things like this happen to people. When I thought it was a wolf, I was depressed, but I was okay with it. I mean, that's a natural thing. Sucky, and kinda odd, but natural, you know? But this…this _evil_? I can't live with this." She turned to look at him. "Sam, this case isn't about retaliation for you two. But _I_ need something to somehow make this right, to get closure. A beautiful funeral and a marble headstone are fine for victims of car accidents and random muggings and, yes, even wolf attacks, but something supernatural took my best friend, and _I need retribution_. How can I just send two people I don't know out into the woods to avenge my husband's death for me?"

"You can't." Sam and Melody looked over their shoulders to find Dean standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. Neither of them had heard the door open. "You can't send strangers out to get closure for you. It's something you have to do for yourself. You can come." He turned to walk away, tossing over his shoulder, "We'll have to teach you to shoot a gun today, though. Can't exactly punch a werewolf in the mouth and expect him to go away."

"Actually," she called after him, "all I need are some silver bullets, if you've got any to spare. I think I can handle the shooting part."

He turned to find her sliding open the top drawer of the nightstand to pull out a 9MM Beretta. "I've also got a Ruger Mark III in the other nightstand, a beautiful replica of an original Colt 45 in the secretary in the foyer, and a nice light Winchester Super Shadow rifle in the coat closet. I keep a Smith & Wesson .38 Airweight in my glove compartment. I like guns. And I know how to use them." She slid the Beretta back into the nightstand and closed the drawer. "I assume you've got silver bullets that will work for at least one of my guns. Is there anything special I need to know about using that kind of ammo?"

For the first time since she had met him, Dean Winchester was speechless. Sam just shook his head. She smiled seductively. "You fellas feel like making a trip out to the country to shoot some shit?"

An hour and a half later, the three piled out of the Impala, in which Melody had demanded that they ride. No way was she passing up a chance to cruise in the Metallicar. They were in the middle of nowhere, after driving for what felt like forever down a country road with deep ruts, Dean cursing a blue streak the whole while about the damage this "backwoods dirt track" was doing to his precious baby. At least he wasn't complaining about the stupid suit they'd had to wear for their FBI routine that morning, since he and Sam had changed clothes before leaving Melody's house.

Finally, the tree-lined dirt road ran out at a large clearing. Bales of hay were stacked near the center, about fifty yards away. Melody set up cans and bottles from a bag she had brought along on top of the hay bales. Perfect makeshift targets.

She pulled her Colt from her waistband, shook out her shoulders to loosen them, and, taking aim, fired six shots in rapid succession, knocking five bottles from their places among the targets.

"You missed one," Dean commented.

She turned and sneered at him. "No, I didn't. I shot a hole through that beer can on the far left. It just didn't fall."

Dean looked to Sam, who simply shrugged. She jogged over to the can and brought it back to them, demonstrating the clean entry and exit holes. The boys exchanged looks.

"Now. Is there anything special I need to know about firing silver bullets?" she asked.

"Uh, hit what you're aiming for?" Dean quipped. "But I guess you've got that under control, hey there, Annie Oakley?"

Melody rolled her eyes and went to the trunk to pull out her rifle, explaining as she went that her parents had her shooting as soon as she was big enough to hold a gun. She didn't do knives or daggers or machetes, and she had never had occasion to fire a crossbow. But guns were her thing. Coming back with the rifle, she fired at the targets four times and four bottles exploded. She sighed happily and lowered the weapon. "This gun, gentlemen," she informed them, "is the reason that I love Winchesters. You two are just lucky to share the name." She spun and went to re-load the gun from the stash in the hidden trunk compartment.

"Hey," Dean called after her, "does that mean you love us?"

Without breaking her stride, she flipped him the bird over her head and twirled it around in the air.

"Anytime, baby," Dean called. Sam elbowed him in the ribs. "Dude! You have gotta stop doing that, you're gonna bruise me!"

"Control yourself, Dean," Sam hissed. "The poor woman just lost her husband it hasn't even been three weeks ago."

"Come on, man, she said herself she wasn't in love with him anymore and hadn't been for a long time. The girl wants me, and with an ass like hers, I'm happy to oblige."

"Dream on, Winchester," a sultry drawl sounded from just behind him. "I'm not desperate just yet."

Sam just laughed at the expression on Dean's face and Melody took aim again at the targets. After a couple of hours, Melody recommended that they quit wasting ammo and go find some lunch. It was well past noon, and her stomach had finally settled enough that she thought she could hold down food, so they made their way out of the woods, Dean cursing yet again at the damage he was sure the bumpy road and tree branches were doing to his car. Melody just smiled in the backseat and let him bitch, happy to be riding in the Impala with the Winchesters.


	4. Chapter 4

Back in civilization, Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of a cute fifties-style diner. Melody slid into the booth beside Sam and grabbed at a menu, suddenly starving. She didn't even look up when the waitress came to place water glasses in front of them and take their orders, just requested a sweet tea, country fried steak, baby carrots, and fried okra. Sam quickly placed his order as well. Melody looked up when the waitress's voice changed to something resembling a throaty growl when she turned to Dean and asked, "And what can I get for _you_, sugar?" Melody discovered that the bleached blonde had leaned over so far that Dean couldn't help but look straight down the woman's already low-cut blouse.

That signature rakish grin stretched across his sinfully delicious mouth and he drawled, "What do you recommend?" Melody leaned over to whisper in Sam's ear, "Somehow I don't think they're talking about lunch anymore." He laughed softly and Dean narrowed his eyes at them before turning his attention back to the marginally pretty but large-breasted waitress, who was now leaning in even closer over Dean, if such a thing was even possible, to point out her favorites on the menu. He finally made a selection, and the waitress made a show of swaying her hips seductively as she walked slowly away. Melody almost spit out the sip of water she had just taken when the blonde turned back to waggle her fingers suggestively at Dean. Poor Sam was almost in tears with barely suppressed laughter. Even Dean cracked a smile. "What can I say, guys? I'm irresistible."

"Dean, baby?" Melody commented. "I don't think having a Dolly Parton look-a-like with an IQ of negative seventy desperate to get into your pants says anything particularly impressive about your prowess with the ladies."

"Do you always talk like that?" he asked, annoyed.

She looked at him askance. "Like what?"

Sam cut in, "Like you have a firm grasp of the English language." Dean just glared at him.

A few minutes later, the Dolly Parton look-a-like, whose name happened to be Molly – go figure – came back with their orders. The only one she had managed to get right was Dean's, of course, but Sam and Melody jut rolled their eyes and ate what she brought them, figuring she was probably too stupid to get the correct orders to them even if they tried to get her to fix them. A few minutes later, she sauntered back over with their check, her phone number scrawled in bold pink ink across the back. As usual, she spoke only to Dean, "Here's your check, sweetie, but y'all take your time now. Don't want y'all to think I'm trying to run you off or anything. I just wanted to close you out before my shift ends. That'll be in about five minutes," she drawled, with a provocative wink at Dean.

"Oh, for the love of God," Melody blurted out, rolling her eyes. The other woman glared at her. Melody smiled sweetly at her and simpered, sugar dripping from her tongue, "Oh, Molly, I do so adore that shade of lipstick on you. It's just so _red_! Let me guess…does it have the word 'hooker' in the name?"

The waitress stormed off. "Well," Melody commented, "at least it's too late for her to spit in my food."

Sam nearly slid to the floor he was laughing so hard. Dean just looked pissed. "Dude, what's with you? You jealous or something?"

"Jealous?" she snapped. "Try embarrassed on her behalf. I swear, women like that make me ashamed to be a member of the same sex. I mean, seriously. Who hooks up with people they meet in diners?" She paused a moment. "Well, other than you, of course, Dean. We all know that you'd hook up with anything with boobs and an easy access skirt." For a moment, his eyes blazed and she wondered if she had pushed him too far. After all, she had known him for two years, but he had just met her that morning. But then his mask of studied casualness dropped back into place, and he just smirked at her.

Melody turned to Sam to ask about how exactly they went about finding jobs, and listened raptly as he explained the process. He rattled off the names of several websites that generally had pretty reliable information. Then there were always local newspapers, especially the obituaries. The harder part, apparently, was finding out what exactly you were hunting once you found a job. Some things were usually fairly easy to identify once a pattern was established. It was even easier when there was a surviving witness to an attack. But often, their job turned out to be mostly trial and error. He told her about the books they used for research. His library included several volumes of black magic, encyclopedias of the occult, and a few notable grimmoires.

Dean remained silent for the most part as Melody and his brother spoke. She failed to notice the way that Dean was eyeing her. Sam noticed, but he made no mention of it, just smiled to himself. Dean would be Dean. Sam had no clue that Dean was thinking how much Melody reminded him of Cassie. The one that got away. The one that he had thought might be the Mary to his John, the Jess to his Sam. Of course, he didn't want her to die a horrible fiery death at the hands of the yellow-eyed demon, but that was beside the point, seeing as how the demon was dead now and everything.

If you squinted just right, Melody did look sort of like Cassie. They had the same light caramel-colored skin (although Melody's was a bit lighter, perhaps more yellow than brown, Dean supposed), the same dark brown shoulder-length hair (although Melody's was straight where Cassie's had been curly, and Melody's was several shades darker), the same brilliant, expressive brown eyes (although Melody's were perhaps a bit bigger, and her lashes somewhat curlier). Melody was a bit taller and a bit curvier than Cassie, but that only added to her allure in Dean's eyes. He liked 'em tall and curvy. Maybe they didn't really _look_ that much alike after all, Dean decided upon completing his surreptitious comparison. But Melody definitely had the acid tongue that had driven him crazy about Cassie. The women were both absolutely insufferable. And pretty damn irresistible, as far as he was concerned.

He pulled himself from his reverie when Sam asked Melody, "So, what exactly was up with that place you took us to today to shoot? That your property?"

"It's some of my Daddy's land. He owns several thousand acres of timberland in Alabama and Mississippi. We used to go out there to shoot on the weekends. He and my mom are big firearm aficionados. Daddy's kinda paranoid, since we've always lived way out in the country. He was adamant about us being able to protect ourselves if someone tried to break in or something, since we never had neighbors or anything that could help us out. That's why I've got so many guns. Isaac hated it, but he indulged me. Fat lot of good it did when one of us was actually attacked."

"There was nothing you could have done, you know," Dean told her softly. "Even if you had been there with every gun in your arsenal, excellent shot though you may be, without silver bullets, the werewolf would have just kept coming."

"I know that," she snapped, before continuing in a softer voice. "I just hate feeling helpless."

"Well," Sam cut in, "you're not helpless anymore."

The drive home was quiet. When they reached her house, the guys made as if to just drop her off and go to a hotel, but she wouldn't hear of it. "Hey, you two are my biggest heroes. I wouldn't dream of letting you stay in some icky motel when I've got two perfectly good extra bedrooms you can crash in right here." She paused a moment, then continued softly, "Besides, knowing what I know now about the world makes me a lot less comfortable with spending the night alone, you know?"

The Winchesters exchanged a look and then agreed. If this strong and capable woman was afraid to be alone, the least they could do was keep her company for the night. After all, they were partners now, at least for this hunt. Besides, it would keep them from having to scam yet another unsuspecting motel desk clerk.


	5. Chapter 5

And so it came to pass that at seven o'clock on a Saturday night in mid-August, after finding that very morning that her husband's death had been caused not by a wolf, but by a werewolf, Melody Justema found herself in the kitchen of her little yellow house with quaint green shutters spooning steaming heaps of lemon and olive couscous onto plates of roasted chicken for Dean and Samuel Winchester. The things that go bump in the night were real. Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki apparently were not. She concentrated on serving dinner, not allowing herself to wonder why she appeared to be the only person on the face of the planet who had learned Sammy and Dean's life story from a non-existent television show called Supernatural.

Once seated at the small wooden dining table, Dean wrinkled his nose suspiciously at the couscous, but, after taking a small tentative bite, dug into his meal with relish. "So," he asked between bites, "where'd you learn to cook like this?"

"Well," she replied with a laugh, "cooking is a pretty big part of my job description."

"Lawyers have to cook?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

She giggled. "I'm not a lawyer, silly, I'm a housewife." Sobering, she paused before correcting herself. "Well, at least I was. I guess I'm not sure what exactly I am now. Can't very well be a housewife without a husband, now can I?"

"Wait a minute," Dean interrupted. "I thought you went to law school."

"Mm-hmm. I graduated this past spring. Definitely my favorite degree so far."

"So…?" Sam asked.

"Well, I've never actually used that degree. Wasn't sure if I wanted to. I always thought I wanted to practice law, ever since I was a little girl. But then, during my last semester – during my last final, as a matter of fact – I had something of a change of heart. Realized I didn't actually want to spend long hours in an office doing the things that lawyers do.

"I was holding off on seriously looking for a job until after I passed the bar exam. Isaac did well enough financially that I didn't have to work if I didn't want to. So, after I graduated, we moved here, bought this house, and Isaac worked while I studied for the bar and took care of things at home. I cooked and cleaned and starched his shirts. Even did a bit of light remodeling. Then, at the end of July, I headed to Montgomery for three days to get myself bar certified."

She stopped for a moment to gather her thoughts. "The test took place over a Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. I called Isaac that Tuesday night to ask him how work had gone that day and to complain about how badly I was sure I had done on the Multi-state Performance Test that afternoon. He had a milkshake craving, so he said he was going to head to McDonald's to get one. He wished me luck on the next day's testing. Told me he loved me and that he'd see me the next evening when I got home."

She stopped speaking again, and tears of anger and sadness filled her eyes. "It was the last time I ever spoke to him. I didn't check my phone for messages until after the last of the testing was over the next day. I had thirty-seven missed calls from his best friend, twenty-two from his boss, and another fifteen from a number I didn't recognize. It turned out to be the police department. Apparently, he had gotten a flat tire on the way home from McDonald's and pulled over along a fairly deserted portion of the road to change it." Her breath hitched, but she continued. "He was found early the next morning, just beyond the tree line, by a patrolling city cop who stopped to see if he could help with the car. I didn't see for myself but, from what I understand, you could barely tell there was a person under all that blood. His milkshake was sitting melted in the cup holder. Where the fuck that cop was while my husband was being mauled by a goddamn werewolf a mere five yards from the roadside is what I'd like to know." She stopped talking and rested her head in her hands for a moment.

Sam laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly. "Mel, I'm so sorry." She raised her head and forced a slight smile through tightly squeezed lips and nodded, but said nothing.

"Well," Dean commented, turning back to his food, "at least you finished the bar exam before you found out. Would've sucked even worse to find out before you were done and screw up the test."

"Dean!" Sam hissed angrily.

She laughed softly at that. "Don't worry about it, Sammy. Dean's right. Isaac wanted so badly for me to do well on that test. I think he may have been even more stressed about it than I was. Once the original shock wore off, I was able to recognize the benefit in the timing myself."

She smiled indulgently at the two of them and took away the empty dinner plates. Dean and Sam went to the room they had decided to share – they always felt more comfortable together, even when there were multiple bedrooms available – and Dean set about cleaning their weapons while Sam went over the map again. They planned to go to Cahaba Lily Park the next afternoon so Melody could show them the trails before they began their stakeout.

After a few minutes of sitting in companionable silence, the boys heard the unmistakable sound of singing emanating from the other side of the house. They exchanged looks. That was definitely not the radio.

_Ave verum corpus, natum de Maria virgine_

_Vere passum immolatum in cruce pro homine_

_Cuius latus perforatum unda fluxit sanguine, sanguine_

_Esto nobis praegustatum in mortis examine_

Sam and Dean walked quietly to the kitchen to find Melody sweeping the floor in a pink and blue striped half apron, her hair caught back with a pink bandana, singing in her soft sweet soprano voice about the crucifixion of Christ.

_O dulcis, o pie, o Jesu fili Mariae_

_Miserere mei, Miserere mei, mei_

_O dulcis, o pie, o Jesu fili Mariae_

_Miserere mei, Miserere mei, mei_

_A-men!_

She held the last note until she caught sight of them standing in the doorway, and stopped suddenly, blushing. "Oh, I'm sorry, was I disturbing y'all?"

"Melody, that was beautiful," Sam said softly.

She blushed harder. "Thanks. Umm, William Byrd's version of _Ave Verum Corpus_ always makes me feel calm." She paused and smiled at a memory. "I had a small panic attack just before Isaac and I were married, when I was waiting for the ceremony to begin. I was seriously considering bolting until I heard the soloist begin singing it, and it settled me just enough that I was able to walk down the aisle." She laid the broom aside, pulled the bandana from her hair and took off her apron.

"You weren't kidding," Dean commented, gesturing to her attire. "You're totally a housewife."

She smiled softly. "Yeah. It's a pretty good gig, if you're into that sort of thing. Which I really am."

"Sure you want to take up hunting?"

She looked at him and pulled her shoulders back. "Like I said before, Dean, it's damn hard to be a housewife without a husband. Hunting's my next choice, and I'm sure I'll like it just as well."

He shrugged and went back to his weapons.

Sam followed Melody out the back door to the screened porch, where she sat at the round metal table and stared through the screen into the darkness of the backyard. "Hey, Sam?" she asked after a moment.

"Hmm?" He pulled out the chair across from hers and settled his lanky frame into it.

"Is this your first werewolf hunt since…Madison?"

He looked away, as if surprised that she knew about Madison. His jaw tightened and he nodded. She laid a hand on top of his on the table and squeezed gently. "I know it hasn't been that long ago. If you're not ready to do this, it's okay. I'm sure Dean and I can handle it."

He looked back at her and smiled. "It's okay, Mel. I'm okay. Dean and I actually talked about it before we came on this hunt. I'm ready. Besides, I've got a feeling that this job will require as many hunters as we can get."

She patted his hand. "As long as you're sure." She paused. "I…uhh…I hope I'm not out of line for bringing this up, but…I think that what you did for her was really brave, and…well, she was just lucky to have someone who cared enough about her to be able to do what you did. You're a special guy, Sam Winchester."

He laughed a little. "Well, I never thought I'd meet someone who considered it lucky to have the guy you just slept with shoot you through the heart to keep you from turning into a werewolf. But okay."

"Dude, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do know what you mean. And thanks."

She smiled and stood up. "I'm gonna turn in. Lock up and…salt, or whatever, 'kay?" She impulsively leaned down to kiss him on the cheek before walking to the door. "I'm glad you and your brother are here."

She walked into the kitchen and shut the door behind her, leaving Sam outside. She turned and almost ran into Dean. "_Oh_, my gosh. You really shouldn't sneak up on me, Dean, I'm pretty jumpy today after the things I've found out!"

He apologized and backed up a step, and she stifled the slight urge she felt to move close to him again. "Sam's sitting outside, if you're looking for him."

"Yeah, I know, I saw you two out the window. So, what's with the kissing?" he teased. "You jonesin' for my little brother?"

She snorted. "I know y'all don't know me from Adam Housecat, but I feel like you're two of my closest friends. Sam's like the brother I never had. And if I can't kiss my brother on the cheek, then who can I kiss?"

"Well, you could always kiss me," he said with a smirk.

She raised an eyebrow and hesitated for a moment before slowly stepped forward, tilting her face up toward his and smiling slightly at his look of surprise. He leaned toward her, eyes half-closed, and she expertly angled his face to the side at the last moment to plant a kiss on his cheek. "You're like a brother to me, too, Dean."

He raised an eyebrow. "How do you feel about incest?"

"Keep it in your pants, sugar. This is Alabama, not Arkansas." She turned and headed to her bedroom, calling over her shoulder, "I'll see you in the morning."


	6. Chapter 6

Melody trudged through the woods, Dean in front of her and Sam at her back. They all had guns drawn, aware that they were not in the woods alone. Something was watching them. They could feel it. As they entered the clearing and approached the center, Melody's heart began to pound. Whatever was watching them was beginning to make menacing noises. And those noises were coming from all directions.

As she looked on in shock, snarling wolf-like creatures began to emerge from the surrounding forest. There were close to a dozen of them, and they moved quickly and stealthily across the grass to encircle the three hunters. "Shit," she heard Dean mutter.

After a few moments of pacing, the werewolves all stopped, as if by some unheard command, and one of the creatures stepped forward slightly. It looked Melody directly in the eye, and she gasped at the malevolence there…and at the familiarity. She felt as though she had seen eyes like that somewhere before. Then the creature broke eye contact and charged the three hunters suddenly, the other werewolves on its heels.

Dean, Sam, and Melody opened fire, but they were only able to fell about six of the monsters before the others were on top of them, slashing and growling. Melody felt herself thrown against a tree as a set of claws raked sharply across her side and back. Pain shot through her body and the wind was knocked out of her. Her pistol slipped from her grasp. She slumped at the foot of the tree unable to move, unable to help as Sam and Dean were torn apart by the beasts. Their screams of pain rang in her ears.

Two of the remaining werewolves, the one who had looked at her just before the attack – she thought within the recesses of her mind that he must be the alpha of the pack – and another that she assumed to be his mate, stalked toward her. She shrank back in horror against the tree, grasping in the grass around her for her gun, but unable to locate it. As they got close enough for her to see the blood on their sharp fangs and claws glinting in the full moonlight, she finally gave voice to the screams that had been building in her chest since the attack began. And she could have sworn she saw the alpha male smile a disturbingly human smile as he raised his claws to finish her off.

Melody sat up with a gasp. She was in her own bed, the sheets tangled around her arms and legs. She was soaked with sweat and gasping for air. She could almost hear her own screams echoing in her ears. The sky was just beginning to lighten with the first rays of the sun, and her alarm clock informed her that it was four thirty-seven in the morning. She hoped against hope that she had not actually been shrieking in her sleep, but those thoughts were dashed when Dean and Sam both burst into the room, guns drawn, clad in nothing but boxers.

"What is it?" Dean shouted, his eyes searching the shadows of the room for any sign of danger.

She sighed heavily, still trying to catch her breath. "It was nothing, I'm sorry. Just a bad dream." She unwound the sheets from her limbs and stood up as the Winchesters warily lowered their weapons. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "It's still really early. Why don't you guys go back to sleep, okay?"

Sam turned without argument and went back to bed, but Dean hung around. He stepped further into the bedroom, gun still in his hand, and asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

She smiled wanly. "Not really. I know you're good at comforting Sammy after his nightmares about Jessica, but this was just nerves, plain and simple. Don't take this as weakness, but I'm pretty damn scared about the hunt tonight. Guess my subconscious just decided to show me all the things that could potentially go wrong."

"Well, if you talk about them with me," he replied reasonably, "we can work out plans of action to make sure we're ready for anything that might happen. Might make you feel better, and it never hurts to be prepared."

"Are you sure John Winchester didn't enroll you in Boy Scouts when you were little, Dean?" she teased. "No, really, I'm okay. I just got overwhelmed in my dream. I know nothing like that will happen tonight, because you big strong men will be there to protect me, right? Now, I think I'm up for the day, so I'm gonna hop in the shower. You should go back to bed."

He reluctantly left the room and went back to the other side of the house, to the room he was sharing with Sam. She shut and locked the door behind him and leaned against it heavily. She had never had a dream quite like that before. It had felt so real, as if she were actually there, in the woods. She could even hear the water of Buck Creek running alongside the path they had been on, could smell the pine trees surrounding them. Shaking her head, she chalked it up to the fact that she was possibly more terrified of this hunt than she had ever been of anything before in her life. It must have made her senses extra-sharp, even in sleep.

She wished she could just go back to bed, but knew that she'd never be able to sleep. Once the sun approached the horizon, sleep was always hard for Melody to find. She could snooze straight through a hurricane – and had done so on occasion – but if the sun was up, she was unable to fall asleep if she was not already in dreamland. So instead, she walked into the bathroom and took the hottest shower her skin would tolerate while thinking of statutes of limitations, world capitals, and any other mindless facts on which she could concentrate to keep her mind off the lycanthropes that would be attempting to rip her heart from her chest come nightfall.

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself and started to dry her hair. After a moment, she thought she heard a sound, so she turned off the dryer to listen. Someone was knocked on her bedroom door. Pulling the fluffy crimson towel more tightly around her body, she went to open it, revealing Dean, still clad in nothing more than a pair of boxers. The dream had rattled her so much that she hadn't noticed before, but now she had settled down enough to fully appreciate the expanse of golden skin covering his toned chest and sculpted arms. The firm muscles of his upper arms rippled as he held out his hand to give her a cup of coffee.

She ripped her eyes from his body to find him smirking at her. She knew that he had said something, but for the life of her, she had no clue what it was. Assuming that it had something to do with the steaming cup of coffee he was holding out, she said, "Thanks, Dean," and accepted the mug. Her eyes drifted south again of their own volition, to take in more of the sight of his exposed torso, and she swallowed hard before dragging them back up to his face. It wasn't necessarily the best move she could have made, because his eyes were devouring her towel-clad form as intently as hers had been devouring him only a moment before, and the slight twitch under his boxers indicated that he liked what he saw.

_Oh, this is bad_, she thought. She was truthful enough to acknowledge to herself that she'd had a crush on Dean Winchester since the very first time she had seen him on her television screen. But that was a very different thing from having him standing in the doorway of her bedroom looking as though he wanted to sample her wares. After all, he was an admitted heartbreaker. He was the kind of man who screwed stupid blonde waitresses in the alleys behind restaurants after they brought him checks with their phone numbers scribbled across the back in bold pink ink. Besides, _she_ was still supposed to be grieving her dead husband. So, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, she took a large step backward and said, "Spare towels are in the guest bathroom closet. There should be plenty of hot water left." Then she closed the door in his face.

"Fuck," she breathed, crossing the room to sit on the bed and put her head in her hands. "You're a damsel in distress with the hots for Dean Winchester. Congratulations, Mel. You're officially a goddamn cliché."


	7. Chapter 7

Half an hour later, Melody emerged from her bedroom into the living room dressed in a pink and brown polka-dotted sundress and cotton-candy-colored wedge heels. She wore a creamy strand of pearls around her neck and matching pearl studs in her ears and carried a small pink clutch. Her hair was arranged in soft waves that floated around her face and neck. Dean was already in the living room, fully dressed, drinking his second cup of coffee while watching the morning news. He looked up and let out a low whistle when he saw her. "You clean up pretty good," he drawled. She blushed and thanked him.

"Why are you up?" she asked curiously.

"Not tired. What about you?"

"Thought I'd head to the early mass at church. I can't go to sleep once the sun comes up, anyway. Guess it's the country girl in me. Once the rooster crows, I feel like I should be milking cows or gathering eggs for breakfast or something."

He raised an eyebrow. "You know, they have stores where you can buy stuff like that."

"Uh-huh. Speaking of, can I interest you in some breakfast before I go?"

"Naw, just coffee. Sammy may want something if he ever wakes up, but cereal's fine for him. Give him some Fruit Loops, and he's happy as a clam."

"God, no wonder that kid's so skinny. Nobody that tall can reasonably be expected to survive on Toucan Sam's excuse for a nutritious meal!"

"Did you just call me a kid?" Sam asked from the doorway, rubbing his head. "I'm totally older than you. You're, what? Twenty-three?"

"Shut up, Sam, I'm only three months younger than you. I'll be twenty-four…" she paused. "Well, I guess I'll be twenty-four on Friday. Hmmm. Kinda forgot I had a birthday coming up. I was going to throw a party here next weekend. Sort of a joint birthday-slash-housewarming thing. But I'm not really feeling up to it. I was supposed to be presiding over my sorority's annual convention this weekend, but…well, I guess I wasn't feeling up to that either. I should probably resign as national president. I doubt I'll have the time to fulfill my obligations while chasing demons around the country."

"You're only twenty-three?" Dean asked.

"You're the national president of your sorority?" Sam asked at the same time.

"Twenty-four on Friday," she confirmed. "And, yeah, I'm the national president of my sorority. It started out as a local sorority almost five years ago. I was one of the original founders. But other schools have started to express interest in having us expand to their campuses, so we set up a national board, and I was elected president."

Sam nodded. "That's pretty cool. Seems like a lot of responsibility, though."

"Yeah. But this sorority was sort of my brain child. It was a huge part of my college experience. I expect I'll always be involved in one capacity or another."

"Wait a minute, you're seriously only twenty-three years old?" Dean asked again.

"Yes, Dean!" she answered, exasperated. "Why is that so hard to believe? And you damn well better not say it's because I look so much older."

"Well, no," he said slowly. "You don't _look_ older. I guess you just…_seem_ older. I mean, you already graduated from law school, got married, and bought a house. That's just not the kind of stuff you expect from someone so young. You're, like…mature."

"Yeah, well, I grew up fast."

"How old were you when you got married?" he asked curiously.

"Twenty-two. We were married less than two years. But we'd been together since I was seventeen."

Dean let out a low whistle. "Hell, I can't even_ remember_ how many girls I've been with since I was seventeen."

Sam snorted. "Dude, you probably can't remember how many girls you've been with since June." Dean shot him a dirty look.

Melody laughed and headed for the kitchen. "Well, I'm starving, even if you two don't believe in eating things that don't come out of gas stations. And I don't have to leave for church for another two hours. So I'm making ham and cheese omelets with jalapeño peppers and salsa, bacon, hash browns, and cheese grits. And I don't want to hear any argument about it."

"You'll get no argument from me," Dean called after her. "I might ask you to marry me, though."

She laughed as she carefully pulled an apron over her head and tied it around her waist. She bent to begin pulling pots and pans out of the cabinets and called over her shoulder, "Well, Dean, I'm afraid you'll have to wait a year for that. I'm in mourning right now, remember?"

When she got no response, she turned to see the brothers exchanging a look before Sam turned around sadly and walked back to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Dean ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and Melody's stomach dropped to someplace in the vicinity of her knees.

"Oh, my God, Dean," she said, coming back to the living room and sitting next to him. "Jesus, I'm sorry, I didn't think about…"

"Don't worry about it," he cut her off. "I made a deal with the devil. I don't pussy-foot around it or try to pretend it didn't happen. Hell, if given the chance, I'd do it again without a second thought. My brother's life is worth a dozen of mine. And I've got a year to take down as many evil sons of bitches as I can before I go out. I think I got the better end of that bargain."

She nodded slowly. "I know what you mean. I've got a little sister of my own." She turned to head back into the kitchen, then stopped and turned back to him. "Hey, Dean? You wouldn't happen to have gotten that contract in writing, would you? I mean, I don't know exactly what rules these deal-making demons follow, but, from what I understand, there _are_ rules. If there are rules, I can just about guarantee there are loopholes. And if I may say, I'm pretty darn good at finding contract loopholes."

He sat back on the sofa and looked at her, but said nothing. She shrugged. "There may be nothing I can do. But, Dean, please let me try." She looked him in the eye. "I know we only officially met yesterday, and it may make me sort of pathetic, since you're supposed to be fictional characters and all, but you and your brother are important to me. And the world needs Dean Winchester to be around for a lot longer than another year."

He ran his fingers through his hair again and smiled. "I knew you wanted me."

She flipped him the bird, and he laughed at the sight of a June Cleaver look-a-like flipping him off in heels and pearls. But she grinned and said, "I'm taking that as a yes. I'll go over the contract once the werewolf problem is corrected." With that, she went back to the kitchen and started breakfast.

By the time she was setting breakfast on the table, Sam had emerged from the bedroom, and they all sat down to eat as though nothing had happened. It figured. These were, after all, Winchesters.

After breakfast, Melody headed off to mass to pray for their safety in that night's battle. She left the men to spend their morning going over the plan in painstaking detail. This was the minutiae that never appeared in television episodes. It was the real explanation for how two brothers armed with only their training, their father's journal, their love for each other, and a kick-ass car had managed to stay alive all these years in their line of work. Their attention to detail and their careful planning got them a lot farther in real world hunts than did Dean's legendary snark. Melody came home a couple of hours later, looking peaceful. The ritual of the Catholic high mass always helped her to find her center. She settled down to go over the plans with Sam and Dean, who were still going strong.

By the time the sun was high, Melody's eyes were starting to droop. She had only gotten about four hours of fitful sleep the night before. She knew Sam and Dean often got by on far less, but she was accustomed to between eight and nine hours of beauty rest per night. So she went to her room to try and force herself to take a nap. She couldn't afford to be drowsy while hunting werewolves in the woods around the park that night. She shook her head at the very thought. Two days before, she had been pulling out bottles of liquor to help her escape the pain and anger of Isaac's death. Now, she was preparing to head out to the woods to avenge that death armed with three pistols and a pair of silver daggers Dean had given her (despite her protestations that she was a total klutz with blades). Oh, and two very hot and very imaginary hunters of all things evil.

As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered if she shouldn't be calling the grief counselor whose card the people at the police station had given her. She still wasn't entirely sure this whole escapade wasn't a product of either post-traumatic stress or the drinking binge she had been on since the night after Isaac's funeral. _Oh well_, she thought. _At least I don't have any small children to drown in my grief._


	8. Chapter 8

At four in the afternoon, Melody woke up, feeling calm and ready to face anything the world might see fit to throw her way. That scared her to no end. She should _not_ have been calm. Her hands should have trembled as she brushed her teeth and her hair and selected layers of clothing to protect her from the claws and fangs of carnivorous wolf-men. Her breathing should have been ragged as she checked her ammunition before tucking her Beretta into her waistband and her Ruger and Smith & Wesson into shoulder holsters. Her thoughts should have raced as she slid Dean's daggers into their sheaths and secured them around her denim-clad thighs. But instead, she felt only a peaceful serenity. It was disturbing.

She emerged from the bedroom to find Dean and Sam leaving their room carrying a bag. She assumed it contained weapons, ammunition, and any other supplies they would need for this hunt.

"How ya feelin''?" Dean asked when he caught sight of her.

"I'm awesome. That nap really recharged my batteries," she replied, cracking her knuckles. "Are you kids ready to kick some lycanthrope ass? 'Cause I am absolutely _spoilin'_ for a fight right about now."

The men exchanged looks. "You sure you're okay?" Sam asked. "I mean, if you're nervous, that's cool, we won't think any less of you. Everyone's nervous before their first hunt."

She shrugged. "I'm not nervous. I'm ready. I've got a good feeling about this. Everything is just as it should be."

"What does that mean?" Dean asked.

She thought a moment. "You know, I have no clue. Just a feeling I have, I guess." She cocked her head to the side. "It's funny that y'all should be wearing that. I feel like I've seen you in those clothes before." She thought a moment, but nothing came to mind. "Must've been one of the early episodes." She stepped onto the front porch and waited for the guys to walk out before locking up the house and following them to the Impala. While the guys stuffed their supplies in the trunk, Melody slid in behind the passenger seat, waving to her next-door neighbor, who looked curiously across the lawn at the car and the men, but waved back.

Ten minutes later, they were at the park, and the sun was just beginning its descent toward the horizon. "Okay, kids," Melody stated crisply, "we've got around four hours before our friends should be coming out to play. Let's walk the trails for a bit, then we can come back here to wait." They piled out of the car and Melody showed the guys the general layout of the hiking trails surrounding the park. A slight feeling of déjà vu struck her as she walked along one particular trail, near where Buck Creek ran through the woods, but she brushed it off. She had, after all, hiked this trail with Isaac in the past.

As the sun set, the three returned to the car to wait. The park was deserted, all of the parents apparently having taken the small children home to put them to bed. Sam and Dean sat on the hood of the Impala, but Melody, feeling restless, walked a few yards away to swing on the nearby swing set. She pumped her legs to make herself swing high into the air, enjoying the breeze against her face. Finally, the last of the sunlight faded, and the full moon and a smattering of stars provided the only light in the night sky.

The three checked their weapons one last time and then set off again into the woods. This time, the feeling was different. The trees, which had seemed welcoming in the warm afternoon light, now seemed ominous. The air felt oppressive. And they all felt that they were being watched. Dean had slipped into the lead and Sam brought up the rear, with Melody sandwiched between them. They all slipped guns into their hands and turned off the safeties as they crept along. Melody's calm was rapidly dissipating as the feeling of déjà vu she had experienced earlier returned ten times stronger than before. Finally, as they reached the portion of the hiking trail that ran alongside Buck Creek, and she heard the water running along its bed, the strong scent of pines assaulted her nostrils. She gasped and stopped.

Dean and Sam stopped as well, alarmed, and asked what was wrong.

"No, no," she muttered. "This isn't good. We have to get out of here."

"Mel, calm down, it's okay," Sam said in a low, soothing voice. "You're fine."

"No, Sam," she snapped. "It's _not _okay, and I'm _not_ fine. And neither are you. I _dreamed_ this. We're walking into a trap. We've got to get out of here. _Now._"

"What?' Dean growled. "What the fuck do you mean, you dreamed it?"

"Just what I said, Dean!" she hissed. "The dream that woke me up screaming this morning was _this_. The three of us walked into the clearing just east of here. A pack of werewolves surrounded us, and we were slaughtered. We have to go back. We need to go back to the car and re-group."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. Just then, a branch snapped ahead of them, and they all instinctively turned toward it. Dean stepped forward. Melody grabbed his arm. "Dean, didn't you hear what I just said? It's a trap!"

He turned to her and said, "Well, it's not a very good trap if we know about it, is it? We can take a pack of werewolves, we've just got to be on our shit. And if you're right and it _is_ a trap, there's no way in hell they're letting us out of here now. We head for the clearing, get out in the open where we can see whatever's coming for us, and we stick together. We stand our ground. And we take these fuckers out. Come on, let's do it." With that, he strode purposefully toward the clearing. Melody and Sam had no choice but to follow him.

It was just as she had dreamt it. A grassy area of about half an acre, surrounded by thick timber. As they neared the center, all sound suddenly ceased. The crickets stopped chirping, the frogs stopped croaking, the wind even stopped rustling through the leaves. Melody felt her hands start to shake, and she made a concerted effort to steady them. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and said in a low voice, "Here they come."

Just as she remembered from her dream, the monsters emerged from the woods. This time, she didn't draw back in horror. She had seen it all before. This time, she wasn't waiting for the attack to come to her. "All right, fellas. Let's give 'em what they came for." Without waiting for Dean and Sam to reply, she jacked a silver bullet into the chamber of the Ruger in her hands, and opened fire. She saw one werewolf fall, then immediately took aim at another, only vaguely noting that Sam and Dean had followed her lead.

The moment she had fired the first shot, the werewolves had leapt toward them, closing the distance quickly. _Fuck_, she thought, _these bitches are fast!_ She got a bead on her second target, but just as she was taking the shot, she caught a glimpse from the corner of her right eye of another beast coming in to attack. She spun out to avoid the hit, but the claws still grazed her, leaving burning trails of broken skin from her right shoulder to the center of her back. Her shot went wide, and the impact of the hit she took was enough to throw her to the ground, but she managed to keep her hands on her weapon. The werewolf that had attacked her came in for the kill, but she took careful aim and shot it between the eyes. When it staggered backwards, she aimed again and shot it through the heart.

Staggering to her feet, she heard Dean grunt in pain and whirled around to see him thrown against a tree on the far side of the clearing. He slumped at the base of it, his right arm hanging limply at his side, and the beast that had thrown him closed in. She didn't hesitate, just raised her gun and fired at the beast's back. The shot hit the creature in the heart and it fell.

She heard a warning called out to her and glanced to her left in time to see a werewolf barreling at her. She instinctively threw herself backward and, grabbing the dagger sheathed at her right thigh, reached out to stab the beast in the back of the leg as it passed her. It stumbled but did not fall. Before it could recover enough to come at her again, she shot it once in the back. It spun and fell, but went to get up again until she sent another shot into its chest, piercing its heart. The entire fight, from the time they stepped into the clearing until the last lycanthrope lay bleeding on the ground, was over in under four minutes. Seemed almost anticlimactic.

She pulled the dagger from the dead werewolf's leg, wiped it off on her pants, and re-sheathed it as the beast reverted to its human form before her eyes. Breathing hard, Melody turned to find Sam pulling Dean to his feet and the field littered with the bodies of the people these werewolves used to be. It was a chilling sight. Naked bodies bled all over the soft green grass, the moon and stars shining brightly above as though they illuminated a romantic walk through the park rather than this scene of carnage.

Dean and Sam seemed unfazed, congratulating each other on a successful hunt. Dean turned to Melody and said, "You handled yourself pretty well, for a first hunt."

Sam snorted. "Dude, she did better than 'pretty well.' She saved your ass, didn't she?"

"Oh, don't mention it," she cut in. "I figured I owed you after decking you yesterday." She smirked, then looked around the clearing again. The smile dropped from her lips and her eyes narrowed.

"What's the matter?" Dean asked. "See somebody you know?"

She shook her head slowly and looked closely around the field again. "Something's wrong."

"Aside from the fact that we're still standing out here?" he asked sarcastically.

She ignored him. "There are only nine bodies here. There should be eleven." She paused and looked around closely once more. "Shit! The alpha male and his mate are missing," she announced.

"And how exactly do you know which ones are missing?" Dean snapped.

"Because I fucking dreamed this last night, Dean. The alpha male and his mate aren't here."

They all turned at the sound of a branch snapping to their right and raised their weapons instinctively. Melody lowered hers almost immediately. "Jesus," the word slipped from her lips like a plea, and she stepped forward.

A naked couple had stepped into the clearing and was walking toward them. They stopped several yards away. The man was about Dean's height, stocky of build, with dark brown hair, dark eyes, and youthful features. His pale skin seemed almost to glow in the moonlight. The woman with him was slender of build and petite of frame, with shining jet-black hair that reached her hips and startling blue eyes.

Melody took another step forward. "Isaac?" she asked tentatively. Dean and Sam exchanged shocked looks.

"Hey, babe," her husband replied. "Have you missed me?"


	9. Chapter 9

Melody took another step forward. "Isaac?" she asked tentatively. Dean and Sam exchanged shocked looks.

"Hey, babe," her husband replied. "Have you missed me?"

"You're dead," she whispered. "How can you be here?"

"Oh, that guy they found out by my car? Please. That piece of flesh was so ripped to shreds he could have been Jimmy Hoffa and no one would have known the difference. I did it that way on purpose. Just planted my ID on him and left him out there. I know it was cruel of me, honey, but I was just so tired of that day job. Felt the urge to get away for a while."

She stepped back at the hard tone in his voice and the wicked gleam in his familiar eyes. "I don't understand."

Isaac let out a short laugh. "Well, let's see if I can explain it to your liking. The pack moved into town about three months ago, just after we did. I was one of the first to be changed. It happened one night while you were out at a bar with one of your girlfriends instead of home with me, so I guess I could say its all thanks to you and your rampant alcoholism." He laughed again at her flinch. "As it turned out, I had a skill that not many are able to master. I can change at will, and I can control the extent of the change." As if to demonstrate, he held up his left hand. Melody watched in horror as the nails lengthened to claws and the hair on his arm grew long, thick, and coarse. The rest of his body remained completely human. Isaac laughed again at the appalled looks on their faces.

"Yeah, it's a fancy ability I've got here. But you know I always was destined for greatness. So, I stuck around with you and the house and the nine-to-five for a couple of months. But then I got to thinking. You know, with my vast potential and the opportunities that this new world had opened to me, I could really make some major moves in my life. So I did. Worked my way up to leader of the pack. Picked myself up a new woman and everything," he smirked, fondling the bare breast of the beauty beside him. Melody felt the blood drain from her face and fought the urge to hurl. Isaac continued, "Yeah, I figured I'd leave everything old behind, along with my old mortality. Including you. But now, seeing you here…" he cocked his head to the side, "…holding semi-automatic weapons…well, I can't very well abandon my own personal Lara Croft, can I?" He stepped toward her, a predatory smile plastered on his lips.

Dean stepped in front of her and said, "I wouldn't take another step if I were you, there, buddy."

Isaac stopped and turned to the woman with him. "Samantha, I'd like to have a conversation with my wife. Why don't you escort her friends elsewhere to play?" The woman hesitated. "Don't worry, lover," he cajoled. "I won't get rid of you. Mel and I had always thought we'd like to take a second wife. We'll keep you, too." When Samantha shot him an offended look, Isaac looked to the three hunters and shook his head ruefully. "Women," he lamented. "Some of them just don't know their place." He viciously slapped her, and ordered, "Change!" She took a deep breath, dropped to all fours and, with a painful scream that became a howl, turned into one of the creatures that had attacked them before.

She rose to her feet having added at least two feet to her height and snarled menacingly at the humans before darting off into the woods. Sam took off after her.

Dean stood his ground in front of Melody, who remained motionless, in shock, with her hands held limply at her sides, Ruger dangling forgotten from lifeless fingers. Moments later, a shot rang out from the woods and a loud inhuman howl of pain was heard. Another shot rang out, and then all was still. Melody and Dean had both instinctively looked in the direction of the gunshots, and Isaac took advantage of the distraction to spring forward and swipe at Dean, hurling him with preternatural strength halfway across the clearing to connect with another tree. Melody's eyes widened at the sickening _crack_ she heard, and Dean slid to the ground, dazed.

"Now," Isaac growled. "I can finally talk to my wife alone." He tilted his head to the side. "From the sounds of it, Samantha won't be able to be our second wife. But I'm sure we can find someone else to do the job." He stepped toward her and she raised the Ruger still gripped in her cold and shaking hands. He laughed, but continued to slowly close the distance between them. "Oh, baby. You wouldn't shoot your husband would you? No, you wouldn't. Not a good Catholic girl like you. You've got morals and a conscience and shit. Don't worry. One little love bite is all it'll take to erase all of that from you."

She let out a sob, closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger. The shot hit him in the leg, and he stumbled, but kept coming. "Honey, you're starting to make me angry. Please don't shoot me again, or I might have to bite you a little harder than I had previously planned."

Another sob, and she fired again, this time hitting him in the stomach. He stopped and roared. "Alright, bitch, I was gonna be nice and let you play with me and my new friends, but I can see that you'd rather be mean to me. That's fine. I can be mean to you, too. By the way, I was going to make you be second wife, not first. Samantha was way hotter than you." He started toward her again.

She fired her pistol, hitting him squarely in the forehead, and then again, finally bringing herself to shoot him in the heart. He fell to the ground, twitching. She continued to fire the gun, but found herself out of bullets. She threw the Ruger to the ground and pulled out her Beretta from the small of her back. Emptied the clip into his limp form. By the time it was out of rounds, Sam had helped Dean to his feet and they had come to try to pull her away from Isaac's body. She shrugged them off with more strength than they knew she had and, tossing the Beretta to the ground, pulled out the Smith & Wesson revolver from her other shoulder holster, firing at him until it was out of bullets, too. By this time, she was sobbing in earnest and shaking like a leaf on a tree. She continued to try to fire the empty gun at him for several longs seconds, just listening to the repetitive _click-click-click_,then dropped the pistol and threw herself onto her husband's body, wailing in agony. She noted somewhere within the recesses of her mind that his left hand was now human again. There was no physical evidence of what Isaac had become.

Dean dropped to the ground behind her and just held her as she cried, making small soothing noises. Eventually, her loud sobs began to abate, but the tears still fell. She felt as if they would never stop. She looked up from red-rimmed eyes to find that while Dean had held her and let her cry, Sam had salted and burned the rest of the bodies to make sure their spirits stayed gone. Nothing like a werewolf's angry ghost to really ruin a hunter's day.

"Mel," Dean whispered in her ear. "Mel, I'm sorry but there's a subdivision nearby, and I'm sure they've called the cops by now about the gunfire. We need to get out of here."

Still crying, Melody gathered her scattered weapons and put them back in their various holsters. She stood unsteadily, but, taking a deep breath, gained control of herself and held out her hand for the salt and gasoline Sam held.

"Mel, you don't have to do this. Why don't you let me…." Melody glared at him, and without another word, he handed them over. She liberally salted the body, then poured gasoline over it. She closed her eyes, let out one last gut-wrenching sob, then set the gasoline down.

Folding her hands, she said, "But now, thus says the Lord who created you; Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name and you are mine. When you pass through the water, I will be with you; In the river you shall not drown. When you walk through fire, you shall not be burned; The flames shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, your Savior." She paused, then prayed, "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

She made the sign of the cross, then lit a match, closed her eyes for a second, and whispered softly, "I love you, husband." Then she opened her eyes. And she dropped the match.

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**A/N: Friends, this fic has come to an end. This story, however, is only the first in a series, The Guardian. The sequel, which is entitled The Guardian, is posted on this site, so if you liked this one, make sure to check it out via my profile!**


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